


At the Well

by cubedcoffeecake



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, F/M, Jane's not a princess, Loki's a prince, Pre-Slash, There really isn't any romance, This is so pre-slash there's practically no pairing, Thor AU, Thor and Eric are just mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-07-24 02:29:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7489758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cubedcoffeecake/pseuds/cubedcoffeecake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That afternoon they were both at the well.<br/>That evening they were both in bed thinking of the other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At the Well

**Author's Note:**

> Totally random one shot. I have absolutely no idea where this came from. It just happened.  
> Thanks for reading. God bless!

The air was crisp, the sun was bright, and the grass was green. Such was the day fate had chosen.

 

He had had yet another argument with his father, the King. Since he had discovered his true heritage, he had been volatile, and likely to burst into anger at any moment. Those precious few who had even pretended to enjoy his presence before the incident ceased their acting, not deeming it worth the threat of one of his explosions of temper just to endure being around him. Though he had believed himself to be alone before, now he truly was.

Even his "brother", who had claimed that he would love Loki despite their not sharing blood, had begun to avoid his company.

So, after receiving this treatment for many weeks and having a particularly unpleasant argument with Odin, Loki decided to escape the castle and meander through the village for the day.

In stark contrast to the luxurious gold-plated castle, the village was a mud pit. Houses built of sticks and small trees tied together precariously by twine and lined with hay and pitch, offset by rundown wooden shops. The people who walked about all wore shades of brown. All the men looked unkempt, and wore simple trousers and torn shirts, with an overcoat if they were lucky, and cracking leather boots. The women wore dresses that went from just below their knees to down to their ankles, with full length sleeves rolled up, their hair tied up in buns, and bare feet.

In comparison to the beautifully clad women with bright silks, soft slippers, and hair tied back and braided with silver and jewels, they looked like the brown mice that ran across the dirt streets.

Loki, unlike every other member of royalty or nobility he had ever met, did not mind their uncleanliness, nor their informal mannerisms. He found them endearing: An observation he wisely kept to himself. As a boy, he had often snuck out of the castle to enjoy village life for a day, and was not finding any difficulty now in blending in.

He wore a brown shirt with a tear down the front and sleeves torn at uneven lengths to just below his elbows, dark brown trousers that were rolled up to just below his knees, and an old pair of worn brown leather boots. His raven colored hair was not slicked back as it normally was. He had let it stay loose, the curls bouncing freely down to his shoulders until enough dust from the road was caught in them that they were weighted down.

 

After a few hours of milling around the village of Midgard, Loki decided he was thirsty, and began to make his way toward the well. The sun was directly overhead, making it the hottest part of the day, and the most unpleasant to be drawing water. Even still, he silently prayed that _someone_ would be there, whatever their reasons, that he might ask for a drink from their pitcher.

Though it took him some time to make it across the village and up and over the hill separating Midgard from the valley with the well, it was still insufferably hot when he reached his destination. Fortunately for him, there was one other person unfortunate enough to also be at the well at this ungodly hour.

A young maiden, just barely younger than the Prince himself, was just pulling her pitcher from the well when Loki approached her.

"Good afternoon, milady. Might you spare me a drink from your pitcher to quench my thirst?" he asked, his silky voice somehow managing to make his request sound like going out of her way to give him a drink was an honor. Which, in reality, it was.

Quickly, she turned to face him, some water sloshing out of the pitcher as she did so. He was instantly entranced by her beauty. Her mouse brown hair was swept up in a tight knot, but some strands were hanging down her forehead and matted in the thin sheen of sweat that had built up in her time under the harsh sun. Her brown eyes sparkled with an amount of life he had only ever witnessed—in a female—in his mother. Her lips were a light pink, and her complexion fare. In his eyes, she was stunning.

"Of course, sir," she replied kindly, extending the pitcher out to him. He smiled gratefully and thanked her, taking the pitcher and quenching his thirst. When he was finished, she smiled at him, accepting back the pitcher and laboriously refilling it. Loki watched from a distance as she lifted it to her head and began to painstakingly ascend the hill with it, still transfixed with her.

 

Even as he made his way back to the castle, Asgard, hours later, the kind-hearted maiden was still on his mind. Only at the oppressively cheery dinner that night did he realize he had never gotten her name. Not being one to back down from a challenge, he decided to return to Midgard once more the next day, to see what else he could discover about this girl.

 

* * *

 

Recalling vividly the happenings of the day before, Jane Foster of Midgard had purposely waited until all of the other mistresses had already fetched their water to fetch hers. Yesterday, they had been violent to her, and her pitcher had been cracked when she was shoved down. Now, though oppressively hot because it was noon, she should be safe.

Because her parents had died when she was a child, she lived with a family friend, her "Uncle" Eric Selvig. He loved her, and was a fairly accepted man in the village; but his reputation was not renowned enough to cause the people of Midgard to be kind to Jane. They had always been rude to her, but as she matured, it began to be more and more of a problem. She was 22 now, and of age to be married. Because she had, thus far, denied all her suitors, she was further cast out. And of course, to add to all that, she studied the night sky; an occupation frowned upon for men, and considered unacceptable for women.

As she drew her pitcher out of the well, a young man came up to her and politely requested a drink. She gave him the water he desired, sparing but a moment to think that he was quite handsomer than most men in her village. Tall, like nearly all the men were, but slender, with a darker air to him.

Later that night, when resting in bed, she began to think more on the man from the well. She decided that he was indeed handsome, and giggled at the thought that she would be far more likely to accept him as a suitor than those who had previously requested such.

That she might actually see him again never crossed her mind.


End file.
